The Stones Remember

The Stones Remember

It takes a special kind of historical illiteracy to brand a people as “colonizers” while standing on the ruins of their ancestors’ temples. The earth keeps better records than men. It buries the truth, but never forgets it.

There are lies that survive only because no one bothers to kneel down and touch the ground.
Ideology floats.
History sits in the soil like bedrock.

If you want to know who a land belongs to, you do not ask activists or politicians.
You listen to the stones.
They have no interest in modern slogans.

Jerusalem is a perfect example of this brutal honesty.

The Dome of the Rock does not sit on the Jewish Temple Mount by coincidence.
It sits there because conquest has a signature.
Build on top of the defeated people’s holiest place and you claim not just territory but memory itself.
You smother the old story by placing your own roof over it.

But the irony of conquest is that it never fully works.
When you build over another civilization’s foundations, you immortalize them.
You create a monument to the very people you tried to erase.

Dig into the mountain and the earth speaks plainly.

Hebrew coins.
Pottery with Jewish names cut into the clay by hands long dead.
Scroll fragments written before most European languages existed.
The foundations of synagogues laid down a thousand years before anyone uttered the phrase “Palestinian identity.”

You do not need a research grant to understand what the soil is showing you.
You just need to stop lying to yourself.

For centuries, travelers recorded what they saw in this land.
Jews. Arabs. Turks. Druze. Empires.
Names shifting, borders changing, populations mixing.

What they did not record was an ancient Palestinian nation.
That identity is modern.
Recent.
A political costume stitched together after the reestablishment of Jewish sovereignty.

But we live in an age where truth is treated like a problem.
History is not consulted.
It is curated.
And anyone who refuses to repeat the approved narrative gets hounded out of polite society by people who couldn’t point to Judea on a map if you bribed them.

This isn’t justice.
It’s insecurity masquerading as moral courage.

A new ideological fetish that collapses the moment someone says, “Show me the evidence.”

Because the evidence is the problem.
The stones remember.
And they refuse to lie.

No ancestral tie is needed to see it.
You do not have to be Jewish.
You do not have to be Middle Eastern.
You do not need a drop of regional blood.

The land itself is the witness.
Its testimony stands regardless of who is listening.

If you want to know who was here first, you do not ask Twitter.
You ask the ground.

The soil is honest.
It preserves what men try to erase.
And when the children of that land are accused of being invaders, the stones rise up to testify on their behalf.